


You'll Remember Me, Love

by Funkspiel



Series: Kinktober 2017 [14]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Van Helsing (2004)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dracula!Grindelwald, M/M, Memory Loss, Van Helsing!Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: Van Helsing is sent on a mission to a land far away, only to find he was never requested to hunt at all. No, Dracula had different motives entirely.Day 21: Shower/Bath





	You'll Remember Me, Love

**** The Vatican sends him to a castle in Romania, far from anything he’s known. The woods are as dark and as deep as his recollection of his life before he became Van Helsing — unfathomable and unknowable. Just stretching deeper and darker the further he reaches into the abyss of empty memories. He’s come because someone requested him specifically. A man by the name of Vlad, the owner of the castle to be specific. He says he thinks his wife or wives is possessed or worse; and in his experience, that never boded well. He thinks one of them or more is the monster wreaking havoc on their village — the monster with the mismatched eyes and the unfathomable appetite.

He enters the castle calmly, more a friend than an investigator, on the request of the same man that brought him here. This Vlad — tall and broad and white of hair — is worried he’ll tip his bride(s) off if he comes in as anything other than a visiting friend from afar. So when he enters, he embraces this strange as he would a brother, if he had one, only…

His heart pangs the moment arms wrap around him. He loses himself strangely, if only for a moment, with his nose pressed against an oddly familiar shoulder. Something flickers, deep in his mind, like a candle not completely gutted, and it scares him more than any set of fangs he’s stared down his barrel. Hands at his shoulders draw them to arms length, and when Vlad looks down at him, he can’t help but shiver.

“How was the trip, my old friend?” He asks, and even to Van Helsing’s ears it doesn’t sound like a farce. He clears his throat and pulls away on the guise of grabbing his bag from the floor.

“Long, as expected, but smooth enough,” he says, but Vlad frowns, throwing him off step.

“You seem tired… I’ll have the servants draw you a bath. We can discuss business in the morning.”

He’s ushered away by servants that don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, taking his bag (and thus his weapons) from him before he can even realize what’s happening — still off balance from the hug. They fuss over him, their faces so cheery its almost frightening. Pale and smiling, drawing his coat from his shoulders and half way through removing his vest before he can even think to stop them. They let him undress alone, but will not leave him. Eyes keen as though worried he will deny their lord’s gift. They don’t leave until he’s naked and shoulder deep in a large claw footed tub, in a room of sparkling candles and strange plants that smell lovely and take the edge from his mind.

He had forgotten what a warm bath felt like. To simply sit and soak. The Vatican does not offer such mortal kindnesses. A buckle and a sponge and a stool, that is what he’s used to. Not the clutch of a hot bath or the way it eased his aches. He finds his eyes heavy before he can even notice, slowly falling as he considers the strangeness of the night. His hands hang heavy on the hard plane of his belly, and warning bells are just begging to ring when he feels hands slide over his shoulders and begin to knead the knots from his neck.

He sucks in a sharp, confused breath, then lets out a low, shivering moan. It’s been so long since he was touched, he almost had forgotten he could be touched at all. What it felt like to be wanted. And the hands on him feel familiar. Like the echo of a whisper he once knew. He should draw away. He should reach for his gun, he should—

A heavy layer of calm falls upon him, and he thinks the trip must have drained him more than he thought because he’s sinking more into the water, his eyes nearly shut. Above him, Vlad smiles.

“It’s been so long,” he purrs softly as he massages him. “Do you remember when last we were like this? You always loved my touch, I’m glad your body has not forgotten me even if your heart did long ago.”

“Whaa-aah?” His eyes roll, his bones turning to jelly, and he’s made a mistake. Such a big mistake. Because the eyes above him are changing now, one brown eyes suddenly bleeding to blue to create a mismatched pair.

“They’re still working you so hard, as though you’re a mule to be ridden into the ground. So ungrateful. So cruel. How could they do that to you?” He asked, leaning in low to talk into Van Helsing’s ear as he asked, “How could you have picked them over me?”

The spell breaks and he scrambled out of the tub in a wave of scented water — only his legs are still rather useless. He squeaks against the tile as he collapses in a mess of kitten-weak limbs, eyes wide and chest heaving. He looks for a weapon, anything, but the door is closed and all he has are candles and plants, plants that smell even stronger now, and his fingers tremble weakly. 

“What are you talking about?” He tries to snarl, but it comes out weak and worried, and he hates himself for it. “What have you done to me?”

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment, love,” Vlad says as he approaches him, kneeling theatrically to reach for him. “I wasn’t going to risk losing you again. The plants are…soothing. To humans. Couldn’t risk you running away. Or attacking me again.”

“Again?” Van Helsing croaks.

Vlad grins. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll remind you of everything. I’ll remind you of who you were. Who _we_ were. All in good time — we’ll soon have forever, after all. Isn’t that right? _Percival._ ”

What little strength he had coaxed into his bones flees him in a rush. He falls back onto the tiles, blind to the present as the past creeps up to haunt him. Lips and clawing fingers down his back and bed sheets. Hot breaths and heavy thrusts. Loved. In love. Killing that love.

His vision fills with tears even as he is gathered into steady arms. He doesn’t remember everything. He doesn’t remember much. He’s afraid and he’s confused and he’s got to get away — but he can’t.

“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.” Vlad says into his hair. “You’ll remember me soon enough.”

And Percival— _Van Helsing_ —can’t help but wonder who he really is, or rather, who he was before the name _Dracula_ came to haunt the lands. 

He finds out soon enough.


End file.
